Page 64 of Between Here and There

I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to steady myself. My emotions feel like they’re threatening to spill over, but I fight them back. I didn’t expect any of this to come up tonight.

I rub my thumbs around the hands that are holding mine. “Rob wasn’t wrong about New York, though,” I say, my voice shaky, though I’m trying to sound more composed. “It’s... it’s not all shiny and glamorous like I thought. And it’s notnotmy fault either. I made a choice, and I have to live with that.” I pause, then add, “I should’ve been stronger. Should’ve known better.” I shake my head, all the thoughts I tried to avoid resurfacing.

Ever since I arrived in New York, there has been a nagging loneliness. Even when I was thriving in my career, it was sad. I had no one. Not that I was used to having someone, but having no one at all is different. There were days when all I wanted was to talk to my friends and feel their presence. Or walk into my house and see my mother and my sister watching TV. There were times I missed even the noisy neighbors I had here in Manila. The way their early morning chatter blended with the crow of the roosters and the sound of the vendors selling food on the streets. I missed anything that resembled life.

“No, Em. You shouldn’t have had to face that at all.” Joshua cuts through my thoughts. “You were strong in ways you didn’t even know. You did what you could with what you had, and that’s enough. You’re enough.”

My heart feels like it’s being tugged in every direction. His words mean more than he realizes, but they also feel like they’re trying to pull me out of a deep, dark place where I’ve lived for months. I’ve never shared this with anyone before, not in such raw detail.

“And New Yorkdoeshave a way of making you feel lonely. I’ve had my share of those moments too,” he says.

“You have?” I don’t know why it shocks me to hear that.

“Yeah,” he continues. “Times when I feel like I want to talk to someone, to share what I’m going through, but then I remember that I have no one there. I barely have anyone here,” he says with a chuckle. “There’s only Bon, but as her older brother, I know better than to burden her.”

I get it, the feeling of wanting to protect the ones who love you most, even if it means keeping your struggles to yourself.

“But now, at least,” Joshua says, “we have each other. When we return to Manhattan and it gets sad, or frustrating, or happy, oranything, Emily. Whatever it is you’re feeling, you won’t be alone. You’ll have me.”

In the silence that follows, there’s a strange sense of peace. Like sharing this weight with him has lifted something inside me, like I’m not standing alone with it anymore. For the first time since that night, I feel safe.

“You’ll have me, too,” I say. And I don’t know why, but I lean over him and give him a hug. It’s soft, uncertain at first, but he doesn’t hesitate. His arms come around me, holding me close, and for a moment, everything else disappears. Everything about our rules and our pretensions fades into the background.

In the safety of his embrace, I let out a shaky breath. I don’t know how long I’ll hold on, but for now, I let myself believe in this: in him, in the space he’s carved for me, in the understanding that I’m not alone anymore. Even when I still feel lost, I can’t help but find it oddly comforting. Because maybe we’realla little lost in our own way. We just need someone to hold our hand while we figure out where to go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Joshua

I’m not used to hugs. Handshakes, shoulder pats, the occasional nudge—those I know well. And with women I date, there’s kissing, there’s sex, but rarely just… hugging.

So when Emily throws her arms around me, her face pressed into my neck, it takes me a second to adjust. She’s kneeling, leaning into me, and instinctively, I open my legs to pull her in closer. My hands settle on her back, and we just stay like that—wrapped around each other in a quiet, unspoken understanding.

For minutes, there’s no need to move, to speak. Just the warmth of her, grounding me, like I’m holding something I didn’t know I needed. Andwow, did I need this.

When she finally lets go, I notice that her eyes are misty.

“Thank you,” she says as she tucks her hair behind her ear and looks into my eyes. “For tonight, for the past few weeks, for the mysterious phone call that saved my life, for everything.”

“Everything?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she nods. “I know we’re in this weird fake relationship thing. But I just think you should know that nothing about my gratitude is fake. You were there every time I needed someone to escape with. And now you’re here when I need someone to talk to. So, yeah, thank you.”

There’s a weight in her words. And not just because she’s being honest with me, but because it feels like that scene in the movies where it’s the last few moments of bliss before the plot builds up and hell breaks loose.

“Don’t thank me,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You say that, but we both know what happens after all this,” she says.

“We don’t have to lose touch, Emily, I’ll still be there,” I say. The thought of letting her go and go back to being strangers is unsettling.

She shakes her head. “Yeah, but, don’t you think it’s just a matter of time before our old lives catch up to us? Eventually you’re gonna start dating again, the way you usually do, and I don’t think I can stand by and just watch when it happens,” she says. For some reason, that thought makes my stomach churn. I can’t think of dating anyone else. Not when she’s around. “And maybe someday I’ll meet someone. Are you telling me that even when there are other people in our lives, we’ll still be there? That we can still be whatever this is?”

Her words hang in the air, and I feel a familiar tension in my chest, something that’s been quietly building since the beginning. She’s right, though—our lives are complicated, tangled in old habits and patterns that don’t always allow for the sort of closeness we’ve found here. But the thought of letting this, letting her, slip away? It twists something deep inside me.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I know this feels different. I don’t want to just go back to the way things were, where we’re practically strangers.”

She sighs, looking down at our hands. “But what if this doesn’t survive outside this bubble? What if it just... fades?”

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